Seriously I’m not sure. The internet tells me it’s Wednesday (technically Thursday by now). Since Tax Day came and went I’m not too sure what’s going on around me. Even more than usual. Right now I’m sitting here between two gassy dogs, coughing and trying to identify where that other weird smell is coming from. This is a situation where I feel a slight kinship to my parent friends. (Which, let’s be real here, is all my friends. I’m the outlier.) I have never had a child but I think pet parenting is fractionally related. But let me go on record as saying that raising a child is exponentially harder than parenting an animal. For one, my stakes are much lower. I mean, your kid could grow up to be Hitler, and most parents in the thick of it seem to think that would be the result of that one time they yelled at them, or the wrong preschool, or non-organic juice. But the worst thing my dog will do as a result of my shitty ‘parenting’ is get off-leash and crap on someone’s lawn or chase a cat up a tree. It’s not going to get much worse than that.
Case in point: you can’t put your kids in the backyard for the day, “run down to Dallas” and hope they don’t notice. Maybe people DO do this, but they are shitty humans.
My dogs remind me a little bit of a friend’s kids, elementary/toddler age: one is a big bully who runs around yelling and destroying things and the other is a clingy mass of neuroses trying to crawl up my legs ALL THE TIME. Like I get that “I don’t pee alone ever anymore” thing. And then I have a cat that’s like a confrontational angry teenager. She doesn’t care that the dogs want to eat her and instead of keeping to herself for a few hours a night she likes to streak through the room and LIGHT IT UP. Poke that bear.There is nothing breakable in my home anymore.
But anyway trying to figure out the origin of various and sundry odors is one area where my friends and I have intersecting experiences. Because they all have to do with errant urine or feces (which is the other differential here – most Human Parents see their kids age out of this issue. Also their fully grown offspring might still be around in their old age to take care of them. Sponge baths and diapers. What goes around comes around).
Which brings me to this:
Welcome to my home. Interesting literature, eclectic decor, scintillating conversation, Urine Destroyer. I like my house, and my life. It’s pretty damn good. But as a single lady of a certain age I sometimes feel the circling shadows of the pity vultures. I know that’s bullshit; there’s nothing wrong with me. EXCEPT THAT SOMETHING SMELLS IN MY HOUSE AND I CAN’T FIND IT. Like, you can’t laugh that off with some Miranda-esque independent-lady sarcasm. It’s the ultimate boner-killer, whatever your metaphorical boner may be. I feel like “Hoarders” may show up at my door looking for an exclusive. I went around the suspect room with a blacklight earlier. Awesome party! (I did have a couple of beers beforehand and listened to some Portishead. They just covered ABBA’s SOS for a new movie but wouldn’t it be nice to have a new album?) So it’s me, buzzed, with a blacklight, stumbling around a dark room looking for that stain that I can smell but can’t see. That is a fucking great metaphor for something right there.